


The Lopsided Tree

by My_Alter_Ego



Series: Holidays [5]
Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Christmas Decorations, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28046157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: Diana and Neal are tasked with doing a bit of Christmas shopping together. Unexpectedly, Neal is blindsided by a piece of his past.
Relationships: Diana Berrigan & Neal Caffrey
Series: Holidays [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025623
Comments: 14
Kudos: 51





	The Lopsided Tree

Diana was not a happy camper at the moment. Reese Hughes had pawned off the responsibility of getting a few politically correct decorations for the upcoming White Collar holiday party. “Keep it minimalistic and tasteful, maybe a few springs of holly and a bunch of plastic poinsettias,” he rumbled with a scowl. “That’s normal seasonal stuff, so hopefully, it won’t offend anyone’s sensibilities.”

“C’mon, Neal, the old man wants tasteful,” Diana grabbed onto Neal’s arm, “so you’re going with me on this fool’s errand, not that I can equate how the word ‘tasteful’ can be used in the same sentence as plastic.”

“Why do you need me?” Neal objected.

“Because misery loves company,” she simpered as she gave him a wicked look.

“A gourmet cup of coffee better be somewhere in this caper,” Neal warned.

Diana ignored her teammate as she bulldozed her way through the elevator doors. “I’m not good at thinking outside the Christmas box, so you better come through for me, Neal. I don’t want people snickering behind my back when they view my handiwork and have to stifle a yawn.”

Neal couldn’t help plucking Diana’s nerves. “Well, how about this scenario. We could have Santa kneeling beside the creche while Mary is inspecting the fruits of the first harvest instead of the traditional Wise Men offerings, and Joseph is busy lighting a menorah. Then we have all the bases covered—Christmas, Kwanza, and Hanukkah, all in one scene that we could set up on the balcony outside Hughes’ office. Maybe we could even add twinkle lights to grab everyone’s attention.”

“You’re not funny, Neal, not even a little bit!” Diana snarled. “Now, get your head in the game.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A half hour later, Diana found a parking spot outside of a small specialty shop that had everything from a huge selection of greeting cards, decorations, and candles to a myriad of kitschy dust collectors displayed within a labyrinth of three rooms. As they stepped inside the little emporium, there were holiday carols playing softly and the heavy scent of evergreen hanging in the air. Diana grabbed two canvas hand-held baskets and shoved one in Neal’s direction.

“Let’s split up so we can get this over and done,” she mumbled as she stomped off, not realizing she was keeping in step with the notes from “The Little Drummer Boy.”

So, having been given his own marching orders, Neal meandered through the first of the overflowing and claustrophobic display rooms. He didn’t get very far when an object caught his eye that caused a wave of nostalgia to sweep over him like the incoming tide. Sitting atop a crocheted doily on an antique Hepplewhite table was a small ceramic Christmas tree. All along it’s molded pyramidal shape, holes had been drilled to allow for the insertion of colorful plastic pseudo-candles, their glow courtesy of an incandescent bulb hidden in the base underneath.

Neal didn’t remember ever having a real Christmas tree during his childhood. Maybe there once was a tall green fir or thick, robust spruce adorned with garish balls and garland before he was three years old, but he had no memory of it. Then came WitSec, and a once nuclear family of three had been reduced to two lone survivors. After that, Christmas was never celebrated as anything more than just another tedious day. However, all that changed when Neal turned six and became the recipient of a wonderous gift from a very kind neighbor. The lady was a novice potter taking a course at the local clay works. One afternoon in December, she knocked timidly on Neal’s front door and gave a small boy a bright smile.

“Hi there, little man,” she gushed. “I’ve been struggling with a new hobby, and that entails a pottery wheel which is beyond challenging for me. I was trying to make a ceramic tabletop Christmas tree, but my first attempt wasn’t quite as much of a success as I would have liked.”

At that point, the woman took her creation out of a gift bag, and it was a replica of the one Neal was seeing today over twenty years later. However, that first fat little tree from long ago had a few flaws, which the gift-giver quickly pointed out.

“When you mount the actual shell of the tree onto the base, it wobbles terribly, and I really didn’t get the painting part quite right either. It was tricky not to streak the color. My instructor told me to just smash it and start over. Well, I did start over and my second attempt was so much better, but I couldn’t bring myself to destroy this one. When you apply so much effort to something, it just seems a shame to toss it out like trash.”

When Neal continued to stand mutely in the doorway, the neighbor looked flustered. “You don’t have to take it, Honey, if you think it looks misshapen and ugly.”

“I think it looks beautiful,” Neal finally whispered in awe.

“Well, thank goodness I’ve found a home for it,” the lady sounded pleased. “After you plug it in and mount the top, you can sort of stabilize it with a few folded-up pieces of cardboard that will make it more steady.”

And that is exactly what an earnest young boy did to his first Christmas tree. He carefully set it on his nightstand where the feeble little colored lights produced dots of illumination on the ceiling. Sometimes, Neal would pinch one of the plastic “candles” between his small fingers to watch his nailbeds seem to take on a light from within. At other times, he’d run those same fingers down the glossy, green-streaked branches. It was the most treasured gift Neal had ever been given, and he now wondered where it had wound up after he left home. Had it become a relic just like his misshapen and ugly past and been tossed out in the trash?

~~~~~~~~~~

When Neal met Diana outside of the store, he had a boxed package in a bag hanging from his arm. His coworker, however, had emerged empty-handed.

“Well, that was a friggin’ bust,” she growled just before she noticed Neal’s purchase. “What did you buy, Neal? It can’t be anywhere near what we need if you only have one little sack.”

”It’s a personal item that I bought for myself,” Neal shrugged. “And no, I’m not going to tell you what it is. Some things should remain a mystery.”

Diana gave Neal the evil eye. “So, remain mysterious, but we’re right back where we started with nothing to show for this ridiculous little jaunt,” the female agent complained.

“Look, Diana, stop sweating the small stuff. Just call Elizabeth Burke and ask her to provide some ‘tasteful’ floral displays for the office.”

Diana looked pensive, “Yeah, that might work,” she agreed.

~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night, Neal plugged in a little green ceramic Christmas tree with its collection of tiny lights. His fingers lingered over the stubby but substantial branches and the colorful small bulbs. A man who didn’t do maudlin stared at what represented a symbol from his past, a lopsided existence created with its own share of troubles, imperfections, and flaws, and he decided this piece of pottery sitting next to his tiger oak bed was a keeper.


End file.
